


Change of Heart

by PippinTheRenegade



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, Escape, Gen, PTSD-esque, Phasma mention, stormtroopers have feelings too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6319162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippinTheRenegade/pseuds/PippinTheRenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the First Order, mention of the Traitor by his identification code is strictly forbidden. He is an enemy of the First Order and will be treated as such. But for some in his old division, FN-2187 has become more than a figure of failure or disloyalty- he stands as a beacon of hope.</p>
<p>Escape is possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a post I can no longer find about Stormtroopers leaving the First Order. Let's see where this goes.

_A blaster shot streaks past Finch's head and strikes the wall two meters behind him, leaving a trail of burning ozone scent in its wake. The afterimage of the beam burns in his brain, and he presses a hand to his eyes to clear it away. Those bucket helmets are good for something, it seems- whole lot of good that did him now, seeing as how he had chucked the thing already._

_He huffs at the thought. They have trackers in them anyway, and this is supposed to be a clean break. That had been the plan._

_Finch raises his own weapon, a standard-issue First Order blaster rifle, and fires three unaimed shots around the side of his sheltering crate and in the direction of the hostiles. Hostiles. Now there's a funny turn, considering this had been his company until a few hours ago. Officially anyway._

_He hears a cry of pain as he presses his back against the wall of transport crates and fights the urge to look._

_Clean break._

* * *

 "FN-3385."

The Stormtrooper snaps to attention, the grip on his blaster so tight that his knuckles must be white under his glove. He can practically feel Captain Phasma's stare boring a hole in the back of his skull, and he tries his best to keep his panic down. Some of the soldiers in the FN battalion view Phasma as a mother for having taken them under her wing; some see her almost as a goddess and speak her name only in reverent tones. But this soldier knows better. 

Phasma is a predator. She sniffs weakness out of the troops under her command and culls it. 

And right now, she is hunting.

"FN-3385," she says again, just to see if he'll shake. He doesn't. "You will submit your weapon for inspection."

"Yes, Captain," he replies, his voice carefully kept even. Show no fear. Stay out of the reconditioning program. Keep your head, and stay alive. 

Another Stormtrooper steps forward and takes his blaster- he knows better than to fight- and Phasma and her retinue sweep out of his quarters. Their absence doesn't release the tension in 3385's shoulders, not quite. That comes more than a minute later, and his limbs are shaking by the time he hits the mattress of his bunk. He yanks the pristine white helmet off his head and contemplates pitching it a moment before deciding better of it. He sets it on the floor by his feet instead.

_Remember,_ he reminds himself, his fingers threading through his blond mess of curls. _Keep your head on. Keep it together. Who are you?_

_Finch._ That's the first answer, the easiest one. The other men in his squadron call him "Finch." It had started as a cruel little jab at his sing-song voice, but now it was more endearing nickname than anything. He would rather be Finch than an assigned string of numbers. Finch has a name, a personality, friends; FN-3385 is a number on a docket, a tool to be used and possibly pitched aside should it become useless.

He is human, of that he is sure. He is blond; his eyes are a dark brown; he has a face with a little speckling of freckles over his cheeks that he sees every morning before he hides it under the armored helm. He sings in the shower, laughs quietly during meals with Bee and Charger and the rest, remembers faces well.

Most importantly, he is weak. He acknowledges his weakness and draws strength from it, then buries it down as deep as he can. He cares too much. Pain in others hurts him as much as it does them, but he can't let anyone know. Weakness like that gets you sent for reconditioning, and he learned that to be a whole new level of hell the first and only time he went through that. As long as he knew he was weak, he could hide it.

Finch swallows hard. He needs to calm down, and he needs a shower. He stands on wobbly legs and crosses the room in three strides to punch the "close" button on his door. Standing makes him lightheaded, almost giddy, and he fights through the floating feeling while his fingers undo the clasps on his armor. The white pieces make it as far as an unceremonious pile on his bed- they'll get put away later.

For now, shower.

* * *

The water beats against his face, plastering his hair tight to his head, and Finch lets it roll over him with his eyes closed. He stands completely still, breathing in the steam and trying to keep his mind running right. He is safe, for now, and should give no one a reason to change that.

The knot of anxiety in his stomach still eats at him. There's no way they will find anything from that gun. There's nothing to find. Inspections are all the more likely to happen after that incident on Jakku two days ago. The reassignment from Starkiller Base to the _Finalizer_ had seemed like a godsend in the days before the Traitor had turned on them, but now the battleship is like a nest of vipers. One false step turns your whole life upside-down, and Finch can sense it.

He had met FN-2187 a time or two, oddly enough. The guy had seemed... normal at the time. More normal than the other Stormtroopers who surrounded Finch on a daily basis. Phasma had paraded by with 2187 in tow like he was some prize, and rightfully so- apparently the guy was the most promising Trooper she had ever trained. If his comrades were to be believed, though, he had a massive fault in the form of refusing to abandon a man in battle.

FN-2187 leaving had struck something in Finch, that something that he kept far enough below the surface that he didn't have to think about it. FN-2187, the Traitor without a name, was weak like him. He was weak, and he was _free_.

Finch switches off the water and drags a hand down his face. "Kinship with a traitor," he mutters, and his face cracks into a smile. As it spreads, wider and out of his control, he laughs. _Laughs_. In secret but also right in the face of the whole First Order. The Order isn't infallible, not even close. The Traitor isn't a failure, not the way the Holo-vids paint him, no. He is everything the Order has failed at: their best and brightest had abandoned his post.

They had failed him, so he left. _Left!_

Finch grabs a towel and pressed his face against the fabric. He catches his reflection in the mirror- same face, ever familiar, with freckles he's traced over a hundred times to make sure they still belong with his skin-and reins in that smile a bit. "Tomorrow," he whispers to himself, a promise. Tomorrow is another day.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of a better day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I haven't written Star Wars stuff in forever. After reading through _Aftermath_ , I had to give it a go. This was so much fun, so I'm glad I picked it up again!
> 
> Your kudos and comments fuel me (writers are powered by reactions and words, did you know that?), and you can always find me over at my Tumblr, [theblazeofmemory](http://www.theblazeofmemory.tumblr.com), for chat and fun and a grand ol' time.


End file.
